


Light the Blue touch paper

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [6]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Robin knows best





	Light the Blue touch paper

“So that’s why I decided to come here. I think Mr Strike is definitely the best-placed person to help me,” the young man said. He glanced at the door to Strike’s office again. “When did you say he’d be back?”

“I didn’t,” Robin said, smoothly. “To be honest, Mr Edwards, we’re quite busy at the moment. Why don’t I take your details, and...”

She could hear Strike’s footsteps on the stairs. Her heart sank. _Bugger._

She stood, hoping to usher the potential client out of the door, but even as she did so she knew it was no use. His head turned at the sound of Strike’s uneven tread, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

Last try. “I really think it might be better if you made a proper appointment,” she said hurriedly. “If I could take your number...”

Strike opened the door and strolled in. Robin’s eyes swept over him anxiously, trying to judge his mood. He looked tired, not a good sign.

Joseph Edwards jumped up eagerly to shake Strike’s hand and introduce himself. Robin gave a small sigh and sat back down at her desk. Not much she could do now.

“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” the young man said, pumping Strike’s hand vigorously. Strike glanced across at Robin, one eyebrow raised just slightly, but Robin had schooled her features to carefully neutral.

Strike glanced back at the young man in front of him. He wore jeans and a T-shirt declaring allegiance to a band Strike had never heard of. His hair was a little too long and a little greasy, his eyes pale blue. There was something about him Strike disliked at once, but he gave him a polite smile.

“How can I help you?”

“Well,” the young man began, “as I was just telling your secretary—”

“Partner,” Strike interjected. Joseph Edwards stopped and blinked. “Sorry?”

“Ms Ellacott is a full partner in the business,” Strike said testily. “Our secretary isn’t here today.”

“Oh.” Edwards didn’t look in the least bit interested. “Anyway, I was hoping you could help me. I want to sue the Army.”

Robin closed her eyes.

“We’re not lawyers, Mr Edwards.”

“I know, but you’ll know how to go about doing it.”

“And why would I know that?” Strike asked quietly.

“Well, you must have got a fantastic payout for your leg. I mean, a lost limb, that must be worth tens of thousands, right?”

Strike’s gaze flicked briefly to Robin. She was concentrating very hard on her monitor now.

“And what injury are you wishing to sue for?”

Edwards held up his left hand. There was a scar running down his arm that was eerily reminiscent of Robin’s. Unreasonably, this irritated Strike even more.

“Tendon damage,” he said triumphantly. “I’m trying to make a career as a professional gamer, but I’m not fast enough on the controls.”

 _Oh, God,_ thought Robin. She’d been hoping the young man wouldn’t go into too much detail.

“Computer games?”

“It’s a hobby like any other. If I was a concert pianist—”

“But you’re not,” Strike broke in again. “Let me get this straight. You want me to help you sue the Army because you can’t play your Xbox any more?”

Edwards flushed angrily. “I have just as much right to compensation as the next man,” he said. “I was injured whilst in the employment of the Army, and now I can’t pursue my chosen career because of it. They’ve offered me a small pension but it’s a laughable amount.”

“What were you doing?” Strike asked conversationally. “When you sustained the injury?”

 _Oh, no,_ thought Robin. There was no way this oblivious young man would pick up on the dangerous tone in the detective’s voice that was making the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“I was on a training exercise and there was a split fence post. It was muddy and I lost my footing, and the wood went right into my arm. There had been no health and safety done on the course—”

“Health and safety?” Strike said incredulously. “You want to sue the Army because you _fell over?_ ”

“Cormoran,” Robin murmured, getting to her feet again. “Perhaps if we could step into your office—”

“It’s as valid an injury as anyone else’s!”Edwards insisted. Strike flushed angrily and opened his mouth again, and Robin stepped out from behind her desk.

“ _Mister Strike_ ,” she said, in a tone of voice that made both men pause and look at her. “There was a rather urgent call while you were out. I left the message on your desk. You need to attend to it immediately.”

Strike glanced back at Edwards and opened his mouth to speak again.

“ _Immediately,_ ” Robin insisted.

Strike hesitated, glaring, his breathing slightly uneven, and then turned and headed for his office. Robin’s shoulders relaxed.

At his door, Strike turned back. “Just for the record, Mr Edwards,” he said, daggers in his voice, “I was blown up on active duty in Afghanistan, and no, you don’t get a massive payout for a lost limb. The risk of injury is part of the job. You’re not even injured enough to be invalided out, so I assume you either failed your basic training because you kept falling over, or you quit because it was too hard. Either way, you cannot possibly sue the Army, and even if you could, I wouldn’t be helping you!” And he turned on his heel and marched into his office, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass.

There was a slightly strained silence in the outer office. Edwards was red-faced, angry.

“Anything else we can help you with?” Robin asked sweetly.

“No,” he snapped, and left. Robin could hear him stamping away down the stairs.

She moved across to the kitchenette and put the kettle on. She brewed Strike a cup of tea which she allowed to stew for even longer than normal, both to give it added strength and to allow her partner more time to calm down. She picked up his mug and the biscuit tin and went to knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

“Robin, you don’t have to knock on my door, you know,” he said as she approached his desk. “When did you last do that?”

She shrugged. “It’s almost never shut unless we’ve got clients in,” she answered. She put the tea and biscuits in front of him.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Thanks,” he said, softly. “And sorry. Looking back, I can see you were trying to handle that with your usual tact. Had he been here long?”

“Not long,” Robin replied. “He popped by without an appointment because we’ve been, ah, ignoring his letters.”

Strike looked at her sharply. “What letters?”

“I, er, filed them with the other unsolicited correspondence.”

Strike grinned. “The nutter drawer?”

“Well, it’s more of a nutter cabinet now, since the Chiswell case. There’s been a marked increase.”

“I know that, but you always give me a quick rundown of what we’ve received.”

Robin nodded. “Most of it.”

“Most of it?”

“Let’s just say it’s on a need-to-know basis,” she said, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “We get a fair few that would just...annoy you, so I file those at the back.”

Strike sat back, regarding her with amusement. “Are you...handling me?”

“No, no, not as such,” Robin said, grinning. “They’re all right there in the drawer if you’d care to look. But I suggest you don’t,” she added hastily. “Not if you want to enjoy the rest of your day. And week.”

Strike’s mouth twisted ruefully. He leaned forward again and dunked a biscuit in his tea. “I’m not sure how I feel about that,” he said, but he was smiling.

“What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” Robin replied, and she went back to her half of the office. Strike munched his biscuit and gazed fondly after her.

 


End file.
